


Bury It

by xHonestSecretsx



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Marriage, sfw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-03 22:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12757575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xHonestSecretsx/pseuds/xHonestSecretsx
Summary: Short work.Reader has been burying a secret from her husband. He’s about sick of catering to her fear.





	1. Chapter 1

Dreams were the sweetest of things. When the world was dark, sleep was light. Lately, there was more dark and dark rather than any light. 

“(Y/N)! (Y/N) awake!” You wake to another moment of hot fear spearing through your chest like that of in battle. Your breasts rise and fall heavily in response to the torture of your dreams. By your side, your husband rested a few fingers against the bend of your waist.  
“What is it?” He asks. 

“I…” You stutter as if the words were caught in your throat. You settle for rustling sweat matted strands of hair away from your neck. You look away from the furs that cover your shared bed and over to any offending areas of open space before wiping away a flood of hot tears. Your husband’s gaze lingers.

It had been going on far longer than the brief few moments before. It had been happening for weeks. He noticed it all. He noticed it then, he noticed it now and he noticed it in the spare moments in between. When you walked, your eyes held a paranoid quality. There was something going on. He settles for tucking your head underneath your chin to reassure you.

“Don’t ignore me.” He says, and you could just feel the spiders crawling under your skin, gnawing away. Your breathing sharpens pace.

“I do not wish to talk about it, Ivar.” You murmur, delving your head deeper against his lovely pale skin that contrasted against the dark of yours. Ivar can feel each racing bump of your heart. 

“I need to know what has happened while I was away.” Ivar says in a low whisper. It was smooth and kind, clean of any aggression. You were honestly surprised.

“You cannot.” 

“Why can I not?!” Ivar says sharply. So much for that, you think. You knew he was hurt. You press yourself up, drawing the sheet over the curve of your bare breast. Without a word you dangle your toes over the edge as you search for your dress. He’s pressing too much, you think. There was a sudden pressure before you were tugged backwards. The meager fabric slipped of your fingers. 

“What are you hiding from me?! Have you slept around on me? Is that it? Tell me what I already know!” Ivar’s tone dripped low, warning you of the mess that was coming your way. Your back arches underneath the furs to Ivar who arches over you. His hands claim your wrists by the side of your head. He was close enough that you felt the small puffs of hot breathes on your lips. 

“He forced me!” You scream against Ivar’s plump lips, leaning into what could have been an all too sensual position. Your heart plummets once the words are actually out. It was freeing to be rid of the secret– but horrifying as well. Ivan’s face drops from anger to confusion. You can see his thoughts brewing in his mind past the tears that well in your own eyes. The shame and self resentment spill over as you slip into an abyss of pain. Through your pain, you can just barely hear his words. 

“He’s dead.”


	2. Forgive and Forget?

“He’s dead!”

He knew who it was. Tears came streaming down her rosy cheeks when he bellowed down at her. He knew who had done it from the expression she gave him at his outburst. Maybe he even knew before she gave him such a pained expression. The evidence of whom had done it was blaring in his mind. It flew around like a bee, persistent and stinging him time after time until he finally snaps.

“Ivar please just drop it.” She says through chalked out sobs. She is so beautiful, even now. Her honied hair tussles in waves dabbling along her curves. Her soft lips puff into a pout as she reaches out to him in hope that perhaps she can change his mind. Yes, he is the envy of his brothers. Any of them would beg him for a night with his wife if given the chance; they’ve surely asked for it in their assumptions of him. What a ‘shame’ it would be for her not to bear children, they said. They won’t have her. Ivar thought he had made certain of that, but there was a loose end to snip. Instead of welcoming her arms he shuns them and rolls to the side of her, pulling himself upright in search of his discarded clothes.

“You don’t even know where you are going,” She says, placing her hands to his muscled arm. He aptly brushes her touch away. He knows where he’s going. Finally finding his clothes, he holds them in his lap. 

“Are you so stupid to think that I would not know who he is? I’ll be damned if you trounce me, go to bed woman.” Ivar says, sliding on the soft cotton of his shirt over his head. She lurches up over him and momentarily stills his motions with her slight fingers running under his shirt. She knows how to set him off. Her fingers trace the bend of his muscles one by one, casting soft circles as she moves. Her feathery touches do little to soothe him and more to enrage him in such a state.

 

His mind blurs with thought of them together. Surely it was never about the sex for him, it was about taking what Ivar didn’t deserve. He would take it all away if there were no boundaries set in place.

“He is your brother,” She reminds him. He breathes in stale air and blood pops bitterly down the lip he holds between my teeth. The blood runs down his lower lip in thick strands. Her words serve as an irritant. He quakes under your words.

“A brother would have protected my wife! He pillaged the fact that he was stronger, here, and forced you. Why are you defending him?” Ivar snarls. His hand raises to strike hers off his chest. The thought racks around his mind like a bad smell. You were defending him.

“What then Ivar? If you strike him down, your father-“ You stumble over your words sensing the irritation you were settling in Ivar. He raises his hand to squeeze her cheeks, his vast hand encompassing her face and pulling her forth to him.

“I asked you why!” He hisses.

 

“You think this so easy for me! Sigurd was my friend and now you would have him dead and I to account for his death? They will say that I am easy. That it was my fault. I cannot bear that burden as well as this-this!” She says his name. The words are like a choked cough with every sentence slipping out of her lips. They hardly settle his confusion. But how could he say no to her now when he knew how the others would look at her. Perhaps they too would find it easy and touch her. Ivar’s rough grasp falls away. Instead he leans forth into her, his lips near millimeters from her own and closes the distance between them.

 

“Look at me,” Ivar runs his lips against her own. Her gaze falls upon Ivar’s eyes, encompassed by the black of his pupil and so animalistic. There’s a part of Ivar she swears is not human when he succumbs to these moments of outrage. Somehow, she can put aside fear of his fury and fall into the warmth of his lips like a spell.

 

“It is done. I’ll behave if it’s what you wish.” Ivar mouths the words between soft kisses. His erratic behaviour dissipates into a former shell of the man he was moments ago. Past the wet of her tears, she nods her head up against him. She curls into her favourite place against his neck and Ivar curls his arms around her protectively. Her under eyes puff with redness as she admits that it would be better for all the parties at hand. He sits there apathetic to the ‘all’ while desiring blood to spill. Sigurd wanted to take her, he knew it.

 

Ivar could not forgive, and nor could he forget. It wasn’t in his nature. He knows his brother is on slight, borrowed time. Ivar needed his revenge.


	3. Prologue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigurd and Reader stay behind from a raid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please be warned this is the prologue to the work and is graphic. If you are triggered easily please do not read this chapter. Thank you. 
> 
> This chapter has the introduction to Sigurd and Reader’s relationship. I won’t be posting any more chapters after this as it feels complete. Thank you everyone.

It was quiet without your husband. He wasn’t there to place kisses across the bend of your neck or tickle your earrings and give you hell about whoever turned their lustful gazes upon you. Which usually, just as today, happened to be Sigurd. His brother had stayed behind to be with you behind fake reasoning. You didn’t mind. Sigurd was a friend. You sat beside him as he plucked his instrument, his cautious eyes drifting up to catch yours every so often. 

“I think that one was the prettiest. It was so smooth.” You say as he pulls his final string. Sigurd pauses if only to look up into your eyes. 

“That was for Margarthe at one point,” He laughs a soft but whole-hearted laugh. 

“Of course, it was. There’s nothing like love.” You explain to him as you stand up to leave for your marital room. Sigurd’s hand shoots out to grasp the tails of your modest dress. 

“Wait!” He says, your hair flutters round your neck as you turn back to him. You tuck your hair behind the swell of your ear.

“What is it?” You say. 

“I have a song for you as well.” He whispers. His eyelids drop, and he averts his paranoid eyes. You tilt your head and fall to a knee. He acts as if you would cast him away. You are almost pensive before you decide to speak. What could it hurt? 

“I’m listening,” You say with a cocky nod of your head. His cheeks heat up instantaneously and he decides to continue. After all—you agreed to listen to him. Your attention was fully on him. It was a rarity. 

The following song was gentle. Sigurd’s fingers drift across the strings in a melody of enchantment. It was like the soft breeze through the trees of Kattegat on a nice spring day where it wasn’t cold, when the sun shone pridefully by the mercy of the gods. You sway gently with the song. Suddenly you stand, garnering Sigurd’s interest as your hips wave from one side to the other. His lips part to expel the breath he held tight in his chest. Your hips swirled along the music and hands gently twisting above your head down along the bend of your waist.

The beat kicks up into a quick strum of his slender fingers across the chords. Your hips twist and swirl against the beat of his fingers. Your bodies move one in one. His gaze couldn’t rip away from your movements. For this one moment, you dance for him, not Ivar at the back of the room. As he strums the strings even faster, you spin around and around until you face him. You laugh and give him a humorously sultry pose. Sigurd gave his final pluck of music as your hands outstretch above your head. When your laughs finally die off, you made the mistake of looking up to him. In that moment everything changed. The connection was unmistakable… but wrong.

“You’re beautiful,” His voice is low. He longed for you. You felt his bright eyes glowering into the pits of your soul. He stands and walks to you before he pulls you forward into his soft lips. You rise onto tippy toes with your hands gripping his wrists.

“No,” You say, pushing his hands down. His lips caress your jawline where he places soft kisses along your jaw. One of his steps forward becomes another and another before you are pinned by his hips grinding into your core. 

“Sigurd I said no!” You shove him in protest. It hardly fazes him. A sharp ringing smack rings through the room, your hand bright red as the mark across his face. You want to apologize—to say you didn’t mean to hurt him, but he was too far gone. Sigurd grips your wrists and twirls you around, shoving your face against the truck of the tree. Pieces break off into your cheek as Sigurd secured your arms in some sort of bind at both the arms and elbows. Your movements become panicked as you push yourself back against him, straining to kick out his legs from under him. It only served to piss him off. Sigurd’s hand weaves through your long locks, tugging your head back. The strands of hair are tight at your crown where he fists your hair.

“I’m sick of your teasing games, princess.” He whispers against your ear.

“I am your brother’s wife,” You stammer. Sigurd’s clothes shuffle behind you. You knew it was coming. He pulls himself free from his clothes and brings your skirts up to your hip. His prick slides up against your lips and while you are shocked, you are more horrified by the lubricant sliding out of your moist hole. How could you be wet for him?

“Ivar doesn’t deserve you. He can’t even handle being off her nipple.” He says. The tip of his leaking cock lines up with your entrance. Seconds later, Sigurd pushed to the hilt of your sex. Your eyes screwed shut as Sigurd hangs over your body and relishes your body melded over his. You don’t want to hurt him, even now as your entrance clamps over him. Sigurd resists your body to pull back, his hips snapping back inside of you.

“Ivar! Ivar!” You chant sobs for your husband. His name desperately pulling at your lips with every thrust into your sex.

“Shut up!” Sigurd grunts behind you, twisting his fingers around to massage your slit. You shriek when he finds your sensitive clit, rolling the button between his fingertips. Suddenly, your husband’s name degenerated into something less. It was something primal and desperate, and as much as you wanted it to stop, your legs quakes under a flood of pleasure. Your sore throat falls into a heap of moist squeals with every thrust he push into your body.

“Oh oh Odin!” You say. Sigurd chuckles behind you among squishy slaps of skin meeting skin. 

“Lord Odin, can you hear her beautiful cries? I shall make her scream your praises, for you, m’lord.” He calls to the skies above. He uses his opposing hand to stabilize his frantic thrusts. You become undone with another call to Odin, cumming down Sigurd’s large cock that slams into your womb. Sigurd gives you his final thrusts before he hilts.

“Take my seed, (Y/N). Give me a son.” He commands. Mere moments later his sticky seed pumps into your ruined pussy. You feel the heat as he kisses your cervix, gasping out his orgasm. He finally stills when his cock softens. It’s as if his mind clears because he looks down upon you in horror. 

“(Y/N)… no.” He gasps out, forcing hot breath out of his lungs as he withdraws himself. You fall onto your knees without him here to support you. His eyes focus on his seed painting your thighs and womb.

“What have I done? What have I done!?” He asks as he kneels to unwind your arms from their fastenings. Even free you lack the will to move. He stole it from you; the will to move and fight him. Instead you merely sob along the ground. It’s as if everything becomes fuzzy. The moments before and those after. The sight of Ivar’s warm smile paints your mind.

At the point where shaking your shoulders proved fruitless, Sigurd lifts you into his arms. His instrument was abandoned behind as he slides you into warm waters to clean your sex of the mess he left behind. It was fruitless. He knew he ruined the bond you had at one time. He too sobbed into the waters, but his tears were washed far away.


End file.
